University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Glover.

Hope is the most treacherous of all human fancies. So
long as there is a plausible ground to expect relief from any
particular quarter, men will relax their exertions in the face
of the most imminent danger, and they cling to their
expectations long after reason has begun to place the chances
of success on the adverse side of the scale. Thus it was
with the party in the Montauk. Two or three precious hours
were lost in the idle belief that the gun would be heard by
Captain Truck, and that they might momentarily look for
the appearance of, at least, one of the boats.

Paul Blunt was the first to relinquish this delusion. He
knew that, if it reached their friends at all, the report must
have been heard in a few seconds, and he knew, also, that
it peculiarly belonged to the profession of a seaman to come
to quick decisions. An hour of smart rowing would bring
the cutter from the wreck to the headland, where it would
be visible, by means of a glass, from the foretop. Two
hours had now passed away and no signs of any boat were
to be discovered, and the young man felt reluctantly compelled
to yield all the strong hopes of timely aid that he had
anticipated from this quarter. John Effingham, who had
much more energy of character than his kinsman, though
not more personal fortitude and firmness, was watching the
movements of their young leader, and he read the severe
disappointment in his face, as he descended the last time

from the top, where he had often been since the consultation,
to look out for the expected succour.

“I see it in your countenance,” said that gentleman;
“we have nothing to look for from the boats. Our signal
has not been heard.”

“There is no hope, and we are now thrown altogether on
our own exertions, aided by the kind providence of God.”

“This calamity is so sudden and so dire, that I can
scarcely credit it! Are we then truly in danger of becoming
prisoners to barbarians? Is Eve Effingham, the beautiful,
innocent, good, angelic daughter of my cousin, to be
their victim!—perhaps the inmate of a seraglio!”

“There is the pang! Had I a thousand bodies, a thousand
lives, I could give all of the first to unmitigated suffering,
lay down all the last to avert so shocking a calamity.
Do you think the ladies are sensible of their real situation?”

“They are uneasy rather than terrified. In common
with us all, they have strong hopes from the boats, though
the continued arrival of the barbarians, who are constantly
coming into their camp, has helped to render them a little
more conscious of the true nature of the danger.”

Here Mr. Sharp, who stood on the hurricane-house, called
out for the glass, in order to ascertain what a party of the
Arabs, who were collected near the in-shore end of the
reef, were about. Paul Blunt went up to him, and made
the examination. His countenance fell as he gazed, and
an expression like that of hopelessness was again apparent
on his fine features, when he lowered the glass.

“Here is some new cause of uneasiness!”

“The wretches have got a number of spars, and are
lashing them together to form a raft. They are bent on
our capture, and I see no means of preventing it.”

“Were we alone, men only, we might have the bitter
consolation of selling our lives dearly; but it is terrible to
have those with us whom we can neither save nor yet devote
to a common destruction with our enemies!”

“It is indeed terrible, and the helplessness of our situation
adds to its misery.”

“Can we not offer terms?—Might not a promise of ransom,
with hostages, do something? I would cheerfully remain

in the hands of the barbarians, in order to effect the
release of the rest of the party.”

Mr. Blunt grasped his hand, and for a moment he envied
the other the generous thought. But smiling bitterly, he
shook his head, as if conscious of the futility of even this
desperate self-devotion.

“Gladly would I be your companion; but the project is,
in every sense, impracticable. Ransom they might consent
to receive with us all in their power, but not on the condition
of our being permitted to depart. Indeed, no means
of quitting them would be left; for, once in possession of
the ship, as in a few hours they must be, Captain Truck,
though having the boats, will be obliged to surrender for
want of food, or to run the frightful hazard of attempting
to reach the islands, on an allowance scarcely sufficient to
sustain life under the most favourable circumstances. These
flint-hearted monsters are surrounded by the desolation of
their desert, and they are aware of all their appalling advantages.”

“The real state of things ought to be communicated to
our friends, in order that they may be prepared for the
worst.”

To this Mr. Blunt agreed, and they went together to inform
John Effingham of the new discovery. This stern-minded
man was, in a manner, prepared for the worst, and
he now agreed on the melancholy propriety of letting his
kinsman know the actual nature of the new danger that
threatened them.

“I will undertake this unpleasant office,” he said, “though
I could, in my inmost soul, pray that the necessity for it
might pass away. Should the worst arrive, I have still
hopes of effecting something by means of a ransom; but
what will have been the fate of the youthful, and delicate,
and lovely, ere we can make ourselves even comprehended
by the barbarians? A journey in the desert, as these journeys
have been described to me, would be almost certain
death to all but the strongest of our party, and even gold
may fail of its usual power, when weighed against the evil
nature of savages.”

“Is there no hope, then, really left us?” demanded Mr.
Sharp, when the last speaker had left them to descend to

the cabins. “Is it not possible to get the boat into the
water, and to make our escape in that?”

“That is an expedient of which I have thought, but it is
next to impracticable. As anything is better than capture,
however, I will make one more close examination of the
proceedings of the demons, and look nearer into our own
means.”

Paul Blunt now got a lead and dropped it over the side of
the ship, in the almost forlorn hope that possibly she might
lie over some hole on the bottom. The soundings proved to
be, as indeed he expected, but a little more than three
fathoms.

“I had no reason to expect otherwise,” he said, as he
drew in the line, though he spoke like a disappointed man.
“Had there been sufficient water the ship might have been
scuttled, and the launch would have floated off the deck;
but as it is, we should lose the vessel without a sufficient
object. It would appear heroic were you and I to contrive
to get on the reef, and to proceed to the shore with a view to
make terms with the Arabs; but there could be no real use
in it, as the treachery of their character is too well established
to look for any benefit from such a step.”

“Might they not be kept in play, until our friends returned?
Providence may befriend us in some unexpected
manner in our uttermost peril.”

“We will examine them once more with the glass. By a
movement among the Arabs, there has probably been a new
accession to their numbers.”

The two gentlemen now ascended to the top of the hurricane-house
again, in feverish haste, and once more they applied
the instrument. A minute of close study induced Mr.
Blunt to drop the glass, with an expression that denoted
increased concern.

“Can any thing possibly make our prospects worse?”
eagerly inquired his companion.

“Do you not remember a flag that was on board the
Dane—that by which we identified his nation?”

“Certainly: it was attached to the halyards, and lay on the
quarter-deck.”

“That flag is now flying in the camp of these barbarians!

You may see it, here, among the tents last pitched by
the party that arrived while we were conversing forward.”

“And from this, you infer—”

“That our people are captives! That flag was in the
ship when we left it; had the Arabs returned before our
party got there, the captain would have been back long ere
this; and in order to obtain this ensign they must have obtained
possession of the wreck, after the arrival of the boats;
an event that could scarcely occur without a struggle: I
fear the flag is a proof on which side the victory has fallen.”

“This then would seem to consummate our misfortunes!”

“It does indeed; for the faint hope that existed, of being
relieved by the boats, must now be entirely abandoned.”

“In the name of God, look again, and see in what condition
the wretches have got their raft?”

A long examination followed, for on this point did the fate
of all in the ship now truly seem to depend.

“They work with spirit,” said Mr. Blunt, when his examination
had continued a long time; “but it seems less
like a raft than before—they are lashing spars together
lengthwise—here is a dawning of hope, or what would be
hope, rather, if the boats had escaped their fangs!”

“God bless you for the words!—what is there encouraging?”

“It is not much,” returned Paul Blunt, with a mournful
smile; “but trifles become of account in moments of extreme
jeopardy. They are making a floating stage, doubtless
with the intention to pass from the reef to the ship, and
by veering on the chains we may possibly drop astern sufficiently
to disappoint them in the length of their bridge. If
I saw a hope of the final return of the boats, this expedient
would not be without its use, particularly if delayed to the
last moment, as it might cause the Arabs to lose another
tide, and a reprieve of eight or ten hours is an age to men
in our situation.”

Mr. Sharp caught eagerly at this suggestion and the
young men walked the deck together for half an hour, discussing
its chances, and suggesting various means of turning
it to the best account. Still, both felt convinced that
the trifling delay which might thus be obtained, would, in
the end, be perfectly useless, should Captain Truck and

his party have really fallen into the hands of the common
enemy. They were thus engaged, sometimes in deep
despondency, and sometimes buoyant with revived expectations,
when Saunders, on the part of Mr. Effingham,
summoned them below.

On reaching the cabin, whither both immediately hastened,
the two gentlemen found the family party in the
distress that the circumstances would naturally create.
Mr. Effingham was seated, his daughter's head resting on
a knee, for she had thrown herself on the carpet, by his
side. Mademoiselle Viefville paced the cabin, occasionally
stopping to utter a few words of consolation to her young
charge, and then again reverting in her mind to the true
dangers of their situation, with a force that completely
undid all she had said, by betraying the extent of her own
apprehensions. Ann Sidley knelt near her young mistress,
sometimes praying fervently, though in silence, and
at other moments folding her beloved in her arms, as if to
protect her from the ruffian grasp of the barbarians. The
femme de chambre was sobbing in a state-room, while John
Effingham leaned, with his arms folded against a bulk-head,
a picture of stern submission rather than of despair.
The whole party was now assembled, with the exception of
the steward, whose lamentations throughout the morning
had not been noiseless, but who was left on deck to watch
the movements of the Arabs.

The moment was not one of idle forms, and Eve Effingham,
who would have recoiled, under other circumstances,
at being seen by her fellow travellers in her present situation,
scarce raised her head, in acknowledgement of their
melancholy salute, as they entered. She had been weeping,
and her hair had fallen in profusion around her
shoulders. The tears fell no longer, but a warm flushed
look, one which denoted that a struggle of the mind had
gotten the better of womanly emotions, had succeeded to
deadly paleness, and rendered her loveliness of feature and
expression bright and angelic. Both of the young men
thought she had never seemed so beautiful, and both felt a
secret pang, as the conviction forced itself on them, at the
same instant, that this surpassing beauty was now likely to
prove her most dangerous enemy.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Effingham, with apparent clamness,
and a dignity that no uneasiness could disturb, “my
kinsman has acquainted us with the hopeless nature of our
condition, and I have begged the favour of this visit on
your own account. We cannot separate; the ties of
blood and affection unite us, and our fate must be common;
but, on you there is no such obligation. Young, bold, and
active, some plan may suggest itself, by which you may
possibly escape the barbarians, and at least save yourselves.
I know that generous temperaments like your will not be
disposed to listen, at first, to such a suggestion: but reflection
will tell you that it is for the interest of us all. You
may let our fate be known, earlier than it otherwise would
be, to those who will take immediate measures to procure
our ransoms.”

“This is impossible!” Mr. Sharp said firmly. “We
can never quit you; could never enjoy a moment's peace
under the consciousness of having been guilty of an act so
selfish!”

“Mr. Blunt is silent,” continued Mr. Effingham, after a
short pause, in which he looked from one of the young men
to the other. “He thinks better of my proposition, and
will listen to his own best interests.”

Eve raised her head quickly, but without being conscious
of the anxiety she betrayed, and gazed with melancholy intentness
at the subject of this remark.

“I do credit to the generous feelings of Mr. Sharp,” Paul
Blunt now hurriedly answered, “and should be sorry to admit
that my own first impulses were less disinterested; but
I confess I have already thought of this, and have reflected
on all the chances of success or failure. It might be practicable
for one who can swim easily to reach the reef; thence
to cross the inlet, and possibly to gain the shore under cover
of the opposite range of rocks, which are higher than those
near us; after which, by following the coast, one might
communicate with the boats by signal, or even go quite to
the wreck if necessary. All of this I have deliberated on,
and once I had determined to propose it; but—”

“But what?” demanded Eve quickly. “Why not execute
this plan, and save yourself? Is it a reason, because
our case is hopeless, that you should perish? Go, then, at

once, for the moments are precious; an hour hence, it may
be too late.”

“Were it merely to save myself, Miss Effingham, do you
really think me capable of this baseness?”

“I do not call it baseness. Why should we draw you
down with us in our misery? You have already served us,
Powis, in a situation of terrible trial, and it is not just
that you should always devote yourself in behalf of those
who seem fated never to do you good. My father will
tell you he thinks it your duty now to save yourself if possible.”

“I think it the duty of every man,” mildly resumed Mr.
Effingham, “when no imperious obligation requires otherwise,
to save the life and liberty which God has bestowed.
These gentlemen have doubtless ties and claims on them
that are independent of us, and why should they inflict a
pang on those who love them, in order to share in our disaster?”

“This is placing useless speculations before a miserable
certainty,” observed John Effingham. “As there can be no
hope of reaching the boats, it is vain to discuss the propriety
of the step.”

“Is this true, Powis? Is there truly no chance of your
escaping. You will not deceive us—deceive yourself—on a
vain point of empty pride!”

“I can say with truth, almost with joy, for I thank God
I am spared the conflict of judging between my duty and
my feelings, that there can no longer be any chance of finding
the wreck in the possession of our friends,” returned
Paul fervently. “There were moments when I thought the
attempt should be made; and it would perhaps have properly
fallen to my lot to be the adventure; but we have
now proof that the Arabs are masters, and if Captain
Truck has escaped at all, it is under circumstances that
scarcely admit the possibility of his being near the land.
The whole coast must be watched and in possession of the
barbarians, and one passing along it could hardly escape
being seen.”

“Might you not escape into the interior, notwithstanding?”
asked Eve, impetuously.

“With what motive? To separate myself from those

who have been my fellows in misfortune, only to die of
want, or to fall into the hands of another set of masters? It
is every way our interest to keep together, and to let those
already on the coast become our captors, as the booty of
two ships may dispose them to be less exacting with their
prisoners.”

“Slaves!” muttered John Effingham.

His cousin bowed his head over the delicate form of Eve,
which he folded with his arms, as if to shield it from the
blasts and evils of the desert.

“As we may be separated immediately on being taken,”
resumed Paul Blunt, “it will be well to adopt some common
mode of acting, and a uniform account of ourselves, in order
that we may impress the barbarians with the policy of carrying
us, as soon as possible, into the vicinity of Mogadore,
with a view to obtaining a speedy ransom.”

“Can any thing be better than the holy truth?” exclaimed
Eve. “No, no, no! Let us not deform this chastening act
of God by colouring any thought or word with deception.”

“Deception in our case will hardly be needed; but by
understanding those facts which will most probably influence
the Arabs, we may dwell the most on them. We cannot do
better than by impressing on the minds of our captors the
circumstance that this is no common ship, a fact their own
eyes will corroborate, and that we are not mere mariners,
but passengers, who will be likely to reward their forbearance
and moderation.”

“I think, sir,” interrupted Ann Sidley, looking up with
tearful eyes from the spot where she still knelt, “that if
these people knew how much Miss Eve is sought and
beloved, they might be led to respect her as she deserves,
and this at least would `temper the wind to the shorn
lamb!' ”

“Poor Nanny!” murmured Eve, stretching forth a hand
towards her old nurse, though her face was still buried in
her own hair, “thou wilt soon learn that there is another
leveller beside the grave!”

“Ma'am!”

“Thou wilt find that Eve, in the hands of barbarians, is
not thy Eve. It will now become my turn to become a
handmaiden, and to perform for others offices a thousand

times more humiliating than any thou hast ever performed
for me.”

Such a consummation of their misery had never struck
the imagination of the simple-minded Ann, and she gazed at
her child with tender concern, as if she distrusted her senses.

“This is too improbable, dear Miss Eve,” she said, “and
you will distress your father by talking so wildly. The
Arabs are human beings though they are barbarians, and
they will never dream of anything so wicked as this.”

Mademoiselle Viefville made a rapid and fervent ejaculation
in her own language, that was keenly expressive of her
own sense of misery, and Ann Sidley, who always felt
uneasiness when anything was said affecting Eve that she
could not understand, looked from one to the other, as if
she demanded an explanation.

“I'm sure Mamerzelle cannot think any such thing likely
to take place,” she continued more positively; “and, sir,
you at least will not permit Miss Eve to torment herself with
any notions as unreasonable, as monstrous as this!”

“We are in the hands of God, my worthy Ann, and you
may live to see all your fixed ideas of propriety violated,”
returned Mr. Effingham. “Let us pray that we may not
be separated, for there will at least be a tender consolation
in being permitted to share our misery in company. Should
we be torn asunder, then indeed will the infliction be one of
insupportable agony!”

“And who will think of such a cruelty, sir? Me they
cannot separate from Miss Eve, for I am her servant, her
own long-tried, faithful attendant, who first held her in arms,
and nursed her when a helpless infant; and you too, sir,
you are her father, her own beloved revered parent; and
Mr. John, is he not her kinsman, of her blood and name?
And even Mamerzelle also has claims to remain with Miss
Eve, for she has taught her many things, I dare say, that it
is good to know. Oh! no, no, no! no one has a right to
tear us asunder, and no one will have the heart to do it.”

“Nanny, Nanny,” murmured Eve, “you do not, cannot
know the cruel Arabs!”

“They cannot be crueller and more unforgiving than our
own savages, ma'am, and they keep the mother with the

child; and when they spare life, they take the prisoners into
their huts, and treat them as they treat their own. God has
caused so many of the wicked to perish for their sins, in
these eastern lands, that I do not think a man can be left
that is wretch enough to harm one like Miss Eve. Take
courage then, sir, and put your trust in his Holy Providence.
I know the trial is hard to a tender father's heart, but should
their customs require them to keep the men and women
asunder, and to separate you from your daughter, for a
short time, remember that I shall be with her, as I was in
her childhood, when, by the mercy of God, we carried her
through so many mortal diseases in safety, and have got
her, in the pride of her youth, without a blemish or a defect,
the perfect creature she is.”

“If the world had no other tenants but such as you, devoted
and simple-hearted woman, there would indeed be
little cause for apprehension; for you are equally unable to
imagine wrong yourself, or to conceive it in others. It
would remove a mountain from my heart, could I indeed believe
that even you will be permitted to remain near this dependent
and fragile girl during the months of suffering and
anguish that are likely to occur.”

“Father,” said Eve, hurriedly drying her eyes, and rising
to her feet with a motion so easy, and an effort so slight,
that it appeared like the power of mere volition,—the superiority
of the spirit over her light frame,—“father, do not
let a thought of me distress you at this awful moment. You
have known me only in happiness and prosperity,—an indulged
and indolent girl; but I feel a force which is capable
of sustaining me, even in this blank desert. The Arabs can
have no other motive than to preserve us all, as captives
likely to repay their care with a rich ransom. I know that
a journey, according to their habits, will be painful and arduous,
but it may be borne. Trust, then, more to my spirit
than to my feeble body, and you will find that I am not as
worthless as I fear you fancy.”

Mr. Effingham passed his arm round the slender waist of
his child, and folded her almost frantically to his bosom. But
Eve was aroused, and gently extricating herself, with bright
but tearless eyes, she looked round at her companions, as if

she would reverse the order of their sympathies, and direct
them to their own wants and hazards.

“I know you think me the most exposed by this dreadful
disaster,” she said; “that I may not be able to bear up
against the probable suffering, and that I shall sink first, because
I am the feeblest and frailest in frame; but God permits
the reed to bend, when the oak is destroyed. I am
stronger, able to bear more than you imagine, and we shall
all live to meet again, in happier scenes, should it be our
present hard fortune to be separated.”

As Eve spoke, she cast affectionate looks on those dear to
her by habit, and blood, and services; nor did she permit an
unnecessary reserve at such a moment to prevent glances of
friendly interest towards the two young men, whose very
souls seemed wrapped in her movements. Words of encouragement
from such a source, however, only served to
set the frightful truth more vividly before the minds of her
auditors, and not one of them heard what she said who did
not feel an awful presentiment that a few weeks of the suffering
of which she made so light, did she even escape a
crueller fate, would consign that form, now so winning and
lovely, to the sands. Mr. Effingham now rose, and for the
first time the flood of sensations that had been so long
gathering in his bosom, seemed ready to burst through the
restraints of manhood. Struggling to command himself, he
turned to his two young male companions, and spoke with
an impressiveness and dignity that carried with them a double
force, from the fact of his ordinary manners being so
tempered and calm.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we may serve each other, by
coming to an understanding in time; or at least you may
confer on me a favour that a life of gratitude would not repay.
You are young and vigorous, bold and intelligent,
qualities that will command the respect of even savages.
The chances that one of you will survive to reach a Christian
land are much greater than those of a man of my
years, borne down as I shall be with the never-dying anxieties
of a parent.”

“Father! father!”

“Hush! darling: let me entreat these gentlemen to bear

us in mind, should they reach a place of safety; for, after
all, youth may do that in your behalf, which time will deny
to John and myself. Money will be of no account, you
know, to rescue my child from a fate far worse than death,
and it may be some consolation to you, young men, to recollect,
at the close of your own careers, which I trust will
yet be long and happy, that a parent, in his last moments,
found a consolation in the justifiable hopes he had placed on
your generous exertions.”

“Father, I cannot bear this! For you to be the victim
of these barbarians is too much; and I would prefer trusting
all to a raft on the terrible ocean, to incurring the smallest
chance of such a calamity. Mademoiselle, you will join me
in the entreaty to the gentlemen to prepare a few planks to
receive us, where we can perish together, and at least have
the consolation of knowing that our eyes will be closed by
friends. The longest survivor will be surrounded and supported
by the spirits of those who have gone before, into a
world devoid of care.”

“I have thought this from the first,” returned Mademoiselle
Viefville in French, with an energy of manner that
betokened a high and resolved character: “I would not expose
gentlewomen to the insults and outrages of barbarians;
but did not wish to make a proposition that the feelings of
others might reject.”

“It is a thousand times preferable to capture, if indeed it
be practicable,” said John Effingham, looking inquiringly
towards Paul. The latter, however, shook his head in the
negative, for, the wind blowing on shore, he knew it would
be merely meeting captivity without the appearance of a self-reliance
and dignity, that might serve to impress their captors
favourably.

“It is impossible,” said Eve, reading the meaning of the
glances, and dropping on her knees before Mr. Effingham:
“well, then, may our trust be in God! We have yet a few
minutes of liberty, and let them not be wasted idly, in vain
regrets. Father, kiss me, and give me once more that holy
and cherished blessing, with which you used to consign me
to sleep, in those days when we scarce dreamed of, never
realized, misfortune.”

“Bless you, bless you, my babe; my beloved, my
cherished Eve!” said the father solemnly, but with a quivering
lip. “May that dread Being whose ways, though mysterious,
are perfect wisdom and mercy, sustain you in this
trial, and bring you at last, spotless in spirit and person, to
his own mansions of peace. God took from me early thy
sainted mother, and I had impiously trusted in the hope that
thou wert left to be my solace in age. Bless you, my Eve;
I shall pray God, without ceasing, that thou mayest pass
away as pure and as worthy of His love, as her to whom
thou owest thy being.”

John Effingham groaned; the effort he made to repress
his feelings causing the out-breaking of his soul to be deep
though smothered.

“Father, let us pray together. Ann, my good Ann, thou
who first taught me to lisp a thanksgiving and a request,
kneel here by my side—and you, too, mademoiselle; though
of a different creed, we have a common God! Cousin John,
you pray often, I know, though so little apt to show your
emotions; there is a place for you, too, with those of your
blood. I know not whether these gentlemen are too proud
to pray.”

Both the young men knelt with the others, and there was
a long pause in which the whole party put up their supplications,
each according to his or her habits of thought.

“Father!” resumed Eve, looking up as she still knelt between
the knees of Mr. Effingham, and smiling fondly in
the face of him she so piously loved; “there is one precious
hope of which even the barbarians cannot rob us: we may
be separated here, but our final meeting rests only with
God!”

Mademoiselle Viefville passed an arm round the waist of
her sweet pupil, and pressed her against her heart.

“There is but one abode for the blessed, my dear mademoiselle,
and one expiation for us all.” Then rising from
her knees, Eve said with the grace and dignity of a gentlewoman,
“Cousin Jack, kiss me; we know not when another
occasion may offer to manifest to each other our mutual regard.
You have been a dear and an indulgent kinsman to
me, and should I live these twenty years a slave, I shall not
cease to think of you with kindness and regret.”

John Effingham folded the beautiful and ardent girl in his
arms, with the freedom and fondness of a parent.

“Gentlemen,” continued Eve, with a deepening colour,
but eyes that were kind and grateful, “I thank you, too, for
lending your supplications to ours. I know that young men
in the pride of their security, seldom fancy such a dependence
on God necessary; but the strongest are overturned,
and pride is a poor substitute for the hope of the meek. I
believe you have thought better of me than I merit, and I
should never cease to reproach myself with a want of consideration,
did I believe that any thing more than accident
has brought you into this ill-fated vessel. Will you permit
me to add one more obligation to the many I feel to you
both?” advancing nearer to them, and speaking lower; “you
are young, and likely to endure bodily exposure better than
my father—that we shall be separated I feel persuaded—and
it might be in your power to solace a heart-broken parent.—
I see, I know, I may depend on your good offices.”

“Eve — my blessed daugther — my only, my beloved
child!” exclaimed Mr. Effingham, who overheard her lowest
syllable, so death-like was the stillness of the cabin—“come
to me, dearest; no power on earth shall ever tear us
asunder!”

Eve turned quickly, and beheld the arms of her parent
extended. She threw herself into them, when the pent and
irresistible emotions broke loose in both, for they wept together,
as she lay on his bosom, with a violence that in a
man it was awfully painful to witness.

Mr. Sharp had advanced to take the offered hand of Eve,
when she suddenly left him for the purpose just mentioned,
and he now felt the grasp of Paul's fingers on his arm, as if
they were about to penetrate the bone. Fearful of betraying
the extent of their feelings, the two young men rushed on
deck together, where they paced backward and forward for
many minutes, quite unable to exchange a word, or even a
look.